


Gold In My Eyes

by Lirriel



Category: Hustle Cat
Genre: Graves Route, Nerd Alert, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Graves, Shut up Graves, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirriel/pseuds/Lirriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe the old ghost isn't fading away, maybe he's just being filled up with grey. We'll shine him up, polish him into a sparkling stone. The ingredients? Something old, something new. Add something borrowed, throw in something blue - and suddenly your Graves is almost as good as new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graves reminisces in that awful way of his and encounters the face of his new destiny.

 

His hands shake as he leafs delicately through the book. It is not the first tome he has ever written, but it might perhaps be the last. His own handwriting stares back at him, scratchy and curling, and he can almost hear the scrape of claws on stone: “ _ Always about cats with you.” _

He wanted to argue back then, when his hobbies were the sharp snap of strings and the crackling roll of dice. He smiles now, a secret smile that deepens the furrow between his brows, carves out the angles that encase his mouth. He is nothing but sharp corners with all the youth wrung out of him, a failed relationship, and a bellyful of guilt that leads him to hoard strays. He is a self-fulfilling prophecy; it’s a wonder he hasn’t rusted already.

Beyond, almost out of his reach, he feels his wards ripple. Graves’ hand stills in its flipping.

The magic tied to him is stretched taut, but he is close enough to know the feel of another witch. Unconsciously, the hand that holds his book up tightens its grip, his muscles going steely in the sleeves of his sweater.

He only relaxes when he hears Landry’s booming voice from above. He did not catch the soft jingle of the cafe’s doors, but that isn’t surprising to him. For all that he favors felines, his hearing is surprisingly normal in his human form. With his head still craned toward the stairwell, he carefully closes the book and returns it to its spot amongst his most prized possessions. 

And yet he does not leave the basement. He stays still, peering up the stairs but makes no attempt to climb them. He is not in a mood to entertain customers, and his mismatched eyes so often draw open stares and probing questions. 

_ No _ , he thinks wryly,  _ I am certainly not in the mood for that today _ . Memories cling to him like cobwebs, weighed down by tangled emotions.

Graves is tired. Too tired. He cannot even bring himself to skulk up the stairs and out the backdoor, too tired to brave the winding staircase that leads up to his apartment. Too tired to face Dracula’s cloudy blue eyes and well-intentioned rumble. Too tired to move. 

_ What a useless old ghost I’ve become. _

Self-deprecation has somehow transformed from ironic to iconic. The Lady of Shalott, but he is a shadow lost in a mirrorland of people. 

The self-confident slap of Landry’s feet against the stairsteps is enough to make Graves flinch like he’s been struck. He hunches his neck between his shoulders for a split-second before reason overcomes instinct.

“Oh, good!” Landry says, his voice bright and booming. Graves peers back at him, his lips quirking in a half-smile as the dreary basement seems to almost immediately brighten in response to Landry’s presence. The man’s all length and energy and even with his magic disguised by Graves’ dampeners, Graves can still taste it in the air: ozone and metal and the jolt of sparks from a frayed cable.

“I was hoping you were still here.” Landry continues as if he’s ignorant to his own magic and the way it flares near Graves. Just acknowledge it, Graves almost wants to beg him, but he understands how stubborn young men can be. He’s still young enough to remember what it was like to be twenty and immortal, sharing his bed with a living flame and his life with a live tiger. Perhaps someone saw the cliff edge he was hurtling toward, but he was too deaf to listen, too blind to acknowledge all the warning signs. He only hopes that Landry doesn’t suffer permanent scars from his inevitable crash. “We had someone come in for a job application!”

_ A new stray _ . Graves blinks back at Landry. He knows he’s becoming a bit of a cat hoarder. He knows none of his current strays have broken the curse. He knows some of them don’t even want to try. And yet.

_ And yet _ .

He brushes past Landry, his own footfalls quiet. His voice is equally low, soft and gentle, the same sort of crooning voice he uses to coax a new stray into his arms. “We mustn’t keep our guest waiting.”

He leaves the rest unsaid, both for Landry’s benefit and his own.

He is not so old that he will simply lay down and die. New encounters bring new possibilities, and this stray may very well be the one to show potential. Or he may simply collect another cat to add to his collection.

Graves finds he doesn’t mind the idea of the latter; for all his attempts to suggest the contrary, he truly is a cat hoarder. As he moves through the kitchen and into the front of the cafe, he is surprised to see a head glinting silver. Doe eyes peep shadowy purple at him. He eyes the newcomer speculatively, even as they stare back, pupils blown wide in catlike disturbance. They are beautiful, in a glinting, glimmering sort of way.

_ What a lovely Burmilla they would be.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> burmilla cats are pretty cool. slap some purple eyes on one and i could easily see it as avery. this avery is non-binary but you could easily apply male/female pronouns to them. i don't think they're the type to mind. somehow or another graves turned into this tutting hen? he thinks a lot for someone who says so little. hmm. 
> 
> regardless, thank you very much for reading! i hope the hustlers who appeared so far weren't too unbelievable and the ones that appear in the future chapters are also equally unoffensive, haha.


	2. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avery might as well be catnip, for all the sense Graves employs in their presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh geez. this chapter was meant to be out waaaay sooner but my laptop decided to go kaput for a while (one very hassled techie friend later here we are), and I'm one of those old fogeys who can't bear the idea of writing out stories on their phone ;; thankfully the old machine is acting much sweeter to me now, and I should be able to polish up and post the final two parts over the next week or so :}

 

Glinting, sparkling, shimmering. He imagines what it would be like to press his mouth to theirs, to taste iron instead of rust. They are everything he cannot hope to be, everything that fits perfectly. They are silver sand, pouring into his cracks and nooks and crannies and breaks - they fill everything, and the cafe operates as if _Avery_ _Grey_ was made to work in A Cat’s Paw. As if when he first dreamed a dream of cats and coffee, _Avery Grey_ came into existence.

It fits them. They fit it.

In his free time, Graves finds himself doodling costume designs, monochrome and magnetic the way A Cat’s Paw is. So often he has tried to encourage his strays’ individuality. But with the idea of Avery in mind, he sketches black and white and gray.

They are Mercury on winged heels, darting between cats and customers, and their amethyst eyes dare to outrival his own mismatched gaze.

And yet despite their unique appearance, he finds himself hovering unpleasantly in the kitchen, eyes narrowed as patrons of the cafe watch Avery. And it isn’t until Finley mentions in that half-sly way of hers that he might be sweet on their newest stray, interested in the idea of silver and Grey overlaid with black and Graves, that he realizes he needs to escape.

It isn’t that he’s _afraid_ of Nacht. But he does worry how Nacht might react to Avery, corrupted and corroded and driven into a frenzy by rust that keeps him plastered to Graves like a regretful tattoo. He can’t do that to Avery, when they’re vibrant and loud and tempestuous in a way that reminds him more of an Egyptian Mau than a Burmilla.

 _Royalty_.

But it’s hard to stay away when he finds them collapsed amongst the cats, limbs akimbo and utterly defenseless. They sleep with the surety possessed by those who have never known a hard touch or a harsh word. The only thing that keeps him from stepping closer is the way his strays cluster around them. Finley takes charge of a throwing competition, with the target being Avery’s forehead. It is only when Hash Browns complains as his favorite catnip toy is stolen, that Graves puts a stop to their festivities.

He is all sharp edges and cold palms, but he wonders if they might melt against him. If they might smooth out his angles, heat up his chilled skin. It is with some wicked pleasure that he introduces his latest creation, designed specifically with them in mind. He chuckles deeply when their response is a flat out rejection, but his amusement quickly turns to horror as Reese begins to spill out all his old ghosts. And yet the largest ghost of them all makes no appearance that night; Nacht stays safely tucked in the back of Graves’ mind, and it is with some reluctance that he bids Avery goodnight.

It isn’t until they’re gone, down the back roads and away into the night, sparkling cold and lonely exactly like the stars that shine above, that Finley sidles up to him. “Does our boss have a crush on our newest pretty kitty?” Her voice is gently teasing, and he keeps his eyes on Avery until they round a bend and disappear from sight. He almost wants to transform, chase after them, behave like _he_ is the stray and _they_ are his savior from the cold night air. But his half-formed coven gathers around him, chattering, and he finds it easier to sigh and lean against the door, crossing his arms.

It is only then that he notices Finley, staring at him with outright shock on her face.

“Oh my _Gooood_ ,” she hisses, dropping her voice into a ( _loud_ ) conspiratorial whisper. Graves regards her with the severity he might a tax collector. “You _doooo_!” She almost begins to squeal then, and it is only his icy blue eye that keeps her silent. She smothers off the sound, hands reaching up to hold her mouth shut even as her eyes dance with delight.

“I’d prefer if you don’t mention it to anyone,” Graves murmurs, casting another glance in the direction Avery had disappeared. For whatever reason he wants to chase them, wants to stick to their shadow if not their side. He worries over them in a way he has not worried after himself in years.

Finley makes a strangled noise, one hand almost jammed down her throat, and he sighs. “At least,” he amends, “until I have had a moment to speak to Avery myself.”

He sees her caper where she stands, a small river dance that draws the attention of Landry and Reese. Landry smiles and turns away, whereas Reese narrows his eyes in distaste. Graves gives Reese a small smile, and with a soft _eep!_ , Reese returns his attention to Landry. Or at least pretends to, which is all well and good enough for Graves.

“I believe you should be off now,” he tells Finley, and she bleats another sound as he re-enters the cafe, heading toward where the takeout trash has been piled high. He immerses himself in the frenzy of cleaning without a few small words and the flick of his wrist; some arthritis flares up at the thought, but Graves works through it. It is only when Reese is the last to leave, hovering at the doorway like a modern-day salesman that Graves desists his efforts long enough to wave the young man off.

Then he is alone with his thoughts. And for the first time in a long time, it is not the ghost of Nacht that visits him but rather the shining silver of something new.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anytime i get to write finley interaction is like the best time of my life, no lie. also graves 100% knows about every single cat breed in existence and probs judges cat shows on his days off.


End file.
